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Now Published—'Slow Business'
I published a poetry collection. Buy a copy today!
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Joey Rubin
September 2023
August 2023
85–The sting is part of it now.
I see the heavy grey New York concrete. The sidewalks as chalky and fat as dinosaur bones. I see the movie theater facade, the box office. And I feel…
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Joey Rubin
84–This heartbreaking unknowability.
All the answers to all the questions I’d never thought to ask.
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Joey Rubin
July 2023
83–Like a tiger in the bush.
Some days I experienced my father’s decline with the equanimity of a monk, and other days with the fury of a tiger.
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Joey Rubin
82–In a chair across the room.
Watching him watch the world slip away, I wrote things down.
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Joey Rubin
81–Awake and waiting.
To die in bed – your own bed, or a loaner, but in your space – is a triumph. A shitty triumph, but a triumph nonetheless.
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Joey Rubin
80—Where are we supposed to grieve, anyway?
I wasn’t sure about this poem. But nor was I sure where to take my grief.
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Joey Rubin
June 2023
79–I will miss even this
And yet here they are. Here I am. And here we go. This is how it happened for me.
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Joey Rubin
78–The only home I’d known.
Somehow, when my father died, I also lost our past.
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Joey Rubin
May 2023
77–A man both living and dying.
His tumor is a root system pared back. His mood blows in the breeze, swinging back and forth.
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Joey Rubin
76–A last Thanksgiving at home.
Driving in, I had the thought: "how many more Thanksgivings will we spend like this, a family together in our family home?"
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Joey Rubin
© 2023 Joey Rubin
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